


A unique arrangement

by LulaIsAKitten



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 03:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15878046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: In response to a prompt by hobbeshalftail3469 in the FandomRevival collection.Prompt: “Athos as Captain, Milady hiding under his desk and sucking him off whilst he has to have a serious discussion with someone else ——— maybe another musketeer.”





	A unique arrangement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbeshalftail3469](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [hobbeshalftail3469](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469) in the [FandomRevival](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FandomRevival) collection. 



The knock on the door causes them both to freeze. There’s an air of panic in the room suddenly.

Athos glances around his office. There’s nowhere an adult woman can hide. The bureau is too small. There’s precious little furniture.

Milady looks at him, her eyebrow arched. He wonders for a moment if she’s going to suggest brazening it out. But they both know that this...arrangement only works if no one else knows about it.

She tosses her head, rolls her eyes, and moves to hide under his desk. It’s the only place. She gathers her skirts in around her as she sits on the floor.

Not for the first time, Athos wonders how he got into this mess. It seemed such a simple idea - that she would, rather than sell her services to the highest bidder, work for him. The information she brings him is useful. He doesn’t like spying much, but it helps to know what the red guard are up to, what agreements are being quietly made between various local dukes. She’s astonishingly good at obtaining information.

He hadn’t bargained on her insisting on taking some payments in kind, though. What started as a business transaction has...blurred. Sometimes he pays her in livres. But sometimes she refuses monetary payment and requests other services from him.

He point blank refused, at first. But she was persistent, and he never was very good at resisting her. The boundaries of their relationship have eroded so that it’s most weeks now that she manages to spend a night in his rooms. He both detests the thought of these nights and counts down the days to them. It’s been a while - it’s probably what she was about to suggest.

But that of course strengthens his determination to keep their...arrangement secret. And she knows it. Where once she was brazen, she’s now being surprisingly circumspect. He suspects she knows he’ll terminate the agreement if they’re discovered. He tries not to think about the fact that she so wants to continue, she’s willing to change her behaviour to accommodate him. It’s all too tangled in his head to analyse properly. It is what it is and he tries not to think about it.

Which is why he now finds himself facing d’Artagnan, in a meeting he’d forgotten he’d scheduled, with his one-time wife, current informant and part-time lover hiding under his desk. It’s not an ideal situation.

She’d been about to try to kiss him when d’Artagnan knocked. He’d seen it in her eyes. He was equally relieved and disappointed at the interruption.

He sits in his chair, slightly back from the desk. D’Artagnan takes the seat opposite and begins his weekly roundup of the progress of the latest group of cadets. He’s been charged with their training, in all aspects of life as well as swordsmanship. Shooting and hand-to-hand combat he outsources to Aramis and Porthos respectively, and Constance is determined to try to domesticate the young men, insisting they learn basic cooking and how to sew on buttons.

It’s not an interesting monologue. Athos tries to pay attention, but under the desk Milady rolls her eyes and pulls faces at him. She’s bored almost immediately. D’Artagnan pauses to rummage through his pockets for a letter about a potential new recruit and Athos takes advantage of the younger man’s distraction to shoot a warning glare at Milady. She sticks her tongue out at him. It’s cheeky, funny, sexy. Arousal stirs within him at the sight of that pink tongue darting out. He ignores it, but by the look of triumph on her face, he knows she’s seen his pupils flare, his breathing hitch.

She’s moving, and he’s slightly panicked now. What’s she doing? She’s slowly, slowly moving onto her knees, careful not to rustle her skirts. As she leans forward he can see almost every inch of her bosom and he can’t drag his eyes away. He knows how soft that creamy skin feels, beneath his fingers, beneath his lips.

Her hand snakes out and finds his leg, her fingers trying to find an opening between his boots and his trousers. Athos clears his throat and pulls his chair closer to the desk. He’s afraid d’Artagnan will see her if she’s leaning out from under like that.

D’Artagnan pauses in his monologue to ask advice on an aspect of teaching sword skills to the young men. Athos launches into an explanation, tying to ignore the small, hot hands now coiling round his calves and gently pulling. He can feel the heat of her fingers through his trousers. He tucks his chair in further as she tugs insistently.

D’Artagnan is listening carefully, and has ideas of his own to add.

Under the desk, Milady is nuzzling against Athos’ leg now, rubbing her face against him like a cat. It’s strangely intimate. Her hands slide up his calves, and slowly find his inner thighs, creeping up. He moves a hand down to stop her, but it’ll look too obvious to burrow both his hands under the desk, so it’s his one hand against both of hers. He captures one, but the other creeps higher.

Suddenly her swift, dexterous fingers are on the stays at his groin, fiddling to undo them. Athos yelps a little and turns it into a cough hurriedly. D’Artagnan appears not to notice. He’s looking down at the letter again, and Athos risks a glance at Milady.

The mischief in her eyes, he expected to see. The naked desire, he did not. She’s very aroused, he can see, her chest heaving, and her fingers have made short work of the ties on his trousers.

Desire crashes through him. All at once he’s rock-hard, straining against the very ties she’s undoing, and a sigh escapes her as she slides her hand in and seeks the opening in the front of his braies. She gently tugs at the hand he has captured, and against his better judgment he lets go.

Before he has time to think about what she’s doing, she’s freed his erection from his trousers - just the release of that pressure draws a sigh from him that he has to turn into a thoughtful exhale, as though wrestling with the logistics of how to train cadets when in reality there’s nothing he cares about less right now.

Then he can’t even concentrate on anything d’Artagnan is saying, because her warm hands are caressing and sliding, squeezing and stroking. It’s a fight to keep his breathing steady and even. His eyes want to drift shut as pleasure coils through him, and he has to will them to stay open, to keep some of his attention on the meeting.

It’s been too long since she was last at his rooms, too long since he’s had any release. Tension begins to build swiftly at the base of his spine, and real pleasure surges through his groin as she carries on touching and stroking, her clever, dexterous fingers knowing just what he likes.

D’Artagnan is still talking. How can there be so much to say? Milady’s arm creeps forward now, sliding up the outside of his thigh and around his hip, pulling gently. He’s powerless to resist her now. He leans forward as though in concentration, his elbows on the desk, and shifts his hips to the edge of his seat. She presses down on his knee, encouraging him to drop his pelvis forward. He complies, and this gives her better access, more of him she can reach. He’s also much closer to her, and before he can realise what this means, her mouth is on him.

She’s gentle, fortunately, and he manages to turn a groan into another cough. D’Artagnan frowns a little at him but carries on. He’s outlining plans to take the cadets out on a mission now. They need practice making and breaking a camp, cooking, scouting, caring for the horses on the move, he says.

Athos isn’t even listening any more. His weight is rested on his forearms and her hot mouth is all around him, sliding, sucking greedily. When he blinks he can see stars. His breathing is too fast and he can’t slow it down. He’s losing control and d’Artagnan is sure to notice soon.

She takes pity on him and eases off slightly, slowing her attentions, and he manages to get his breath back a little. He runs a hand though his hair. This should be mortifying, but he might be more aroused than he’s ever been in his life. He’s trying not to think about the fact that if this carries on he’s going to come, right here and now under his desk, whilst supposedly in conversation with one of his closest friends.

She knows it, too. She’s caressing him almost lazily now, tongue and fingers sliding, her wrist twisting just _so_ in the way she knows almost makes him lose it. The ache in his groin, in the base of his spine, is almost too much to bear.

A shout from Porthos, calling from the yard, shouting d’Artagnan’s name. A brief reprieve as d’Artagnan answers, stands and moves to the door to hear what Porthos has to say.

Before Athos can move, Milady presses forward insistently under the desk. He gasps sharply as her mouth surges around him once more and her wrist twists again. He was going to tell her to stop but now he can’t, he can’t speak, he can’t breathe, he can’t do anything except fight to keep his body still, stop his hips thrusting at her. His head drops, his left hand is in his hair and his right scrabbles briefly at the surface of the desk, grasping at nothing, and then he’s coming, hard, into the tight, wet heat of her mouth. He manages to choke back a groan, just a single grunt escaping him as the pleasure pulses through him, and then it’s over and she’s withdrawing.

Shuddering, he manages to control his breathing, and then suddenly d’Artagnan is stood in front of him again, asking if he’s all right. He thinks he mumbles something about being tired, and paperwork, and late nights. D’Artagnan nods and makes his excuses and leaves. Porthos needs him in the yard organising the next training session.

Athos collapses back in his chair, and Milady grins up at him, aroused and teasing but also with a fond look in her eyes that throws him off balance more than anything else she says or does. She’ll be staying in his rooms tonight, and they both know it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Your move, Hobbes ;)


End file.
